Things I've Pondered This Week: A Rant about Ugly Houses

Out-of-place architecture tops my list of annoying things this week.  First off, the large blocks of minimalist cement have all the warmth of a frosty arctic breeze.  Nothing says “Welcome Home” from a long day of work like a huge slab of cement-colored cement with glass-brick windows.  Well, actually, if your real house-like looking house has an excellent view of the cement slab, eh, I guess you can gaze out your window huddled beneath a Snuggie and feel the brisk arctic chill emanating from the colossal monstrosity that you should be parking your car on instead of looking at out said window.  

I just don’t understand exactly who it might be that enjoys a house that blends, sort of, with the street but absolutely nothing else in the neighborhood.  Or is that the point?  Is it an above-ground fallout shelter?  Is this multi-million dollar blemish on my community someone’s emergency bunker?

Or are they architecturally-challenged?  Did this person not bother to take even a quick gander around the neighborhood prior to requesting the facilitation of poor judgment?  Seriously, the guy who pushes a Jewel cart down my alley every morning has more taste displayed in his overflowing, yet structurally sound, conglomeration of neighborhood waste he slowly creaks from alleyway to alleyway.

And don’t give me some “Oh, it’s avant-garde!” bullshit either.  It’s not.  No one likes your ugly pile of what used to be a stretch of I-90.  Flowers won’t even grow anywhere its shadow falls.  If you really want to look like you have a lot of money, do what everyone else does: buy a BMW.  Hey, buy two.  And some extravagant landscaping.  Don’t hide the fact that you can’t afford furniture for your ugly house by claiming the architecture demands sparse interior decoration.  Everyone knows that you just ran out of money.

And yes, please, by all means, be extremely embarrassed by your lack of style.

Whether you realize it or not, the former neighborhood eyesore, you know, the house with the faux-brick overlay and rancid booger-colored door, peeling paint, obvious mold damage, cracked cement walkway, broken shutters, and overabundance of creepy holiday decorations year round… no one even notices it anymore with your piece of shit being the talk of the community (and not at all in a good way…  actually, in a very bad way).

So, let’s talk about it.  Why?  What’s wrong with you?  Did you not get enough attention as a child?  Do you think your parents will notice you now?  Do you have no one in your life who will tell you the truth when you have a bad idea?  Or did you forget to ask for another’s opinion?

If you really have no one you can trust to tell you the truth, I’ll be here for you.  I’ll let you know what is an acceptable tattoo versus an unacceptable tattoo.  I’ll let you know what constitutes “art” versus what’s just a pile of soup cans.  I’ll clue you in on how, just because an underweight, over-caffeinated model wears something on a runway, that doesn’t mean just anyone should give it a go.   I’d be more than happy to help you pick out your ties, shoes, color-scheme, furniture, house… Whatever you may need to know the truth about, I’m here for you.

And guess what.  I have no desire to join your entourage.  I will not charge a fee for my services.  I won’t expect gifts of expensive jewels from Tiffany’s, or European vacations, or my own island.  Of course, I won’t sleep with you either.  It will be what I  onsider community service.  I’m just trying to be neighborly here.   And, it’s fairly obvious you need a friend, someone who will tell you the truth even when you don’t want to hear it.  It may be a little painful, for both of us, since you’re probably a complete ass hat, but I know I can help.

You’ll probably yell and throw things.  I’ll just give you a solid teacher glare.  If need be, I’ll give you a time out to think about your behavior and actions.  You probably haven’t thought about anyone other than yourself in a while.

You know, they say “no man is an island,” and all that.  Well, it’s true.  Mainly because, if your ugly piece of crap house was on an island somewhere, I’d never be subjected to the foulness of your horrid taste.  But also, I know it because I hear this abomination of architecture as a cry for help.  Well, actually, it’s more of a scream, but you get the idea.  Why don’t you pretend to need to borrow a cup of sugar, which will obviously be a front because nothing will ever get baked in that house (do you even have an oven?), and we’ll talk.  Or take a lovely walk around the neighborhood and discuss what fits in and what does not.  Like your house.  Your house that we can’t even burn to the ground.

Fret not lamb chop, we’ll figure something out whether you request my services or not... 

Cleaning for the Cleaning Lady

For some people, hiring someone to clean your house is a luxury.  If you have some extra cash, work long hours, or are just lazy, paying someone to do your chores is awesome.  Then there are those of us who can not live without  someone to help out.

No, I didn't just make that up.

I am one of those people, who will eat Campbell's tomato soup for a week out of each month, and skip breakfast and lunch altogether, just to afford to pay someone to help me clean my house.  What can I say?  I have ADHD and a three-year-old.  The havok this creates is far more damaging than mixing bleach and ammonia together and then taking a deep breath.

But wait, it gets better...  I not only have the most wonderful and understanding cleaning lady, Isabella, I also have a professional organizer come in once a month.  Stop laughing.  I can hear you laughing. 

Now, I will never fully understand this phenomena, but I do know I am not the only person who cleans before the cleaning lady arrives.  Why do we do this?  Does this make any sense?

The house must not be messy when the person being paid to clean it arrives.  Hmmm...

I mean, I do all the dishes, wash the windows, and make my bed (a completely pointless task I never do unless we're having guests, I just washed the sheets, or Isabella is coming to clean.)  And I continue to make the bed even though Isabella always re-makes the bed.  WTF?  Why do I do this?  It's not like I don't know she will make the bed.  I wonder what she must think of my lame attempt at bed-making.  I mean, really, all I do is pull the blanket up and fluff the pillows.  It's not like I fix the sheet; it's visibly rumpled under the blanket, but that's just the right amount of effort for bed making.  In a few hours, I'm just going to mess it up again.

Now, I will admit to the point that a made bed does make a room look a little neater, but do I honestly believe she won't notice the Pits of Despair in the corner if the bed is made?  She must think, "Why doesn't this broad take care of that pile of crap in the corner since she knows I'm going to make the bed anyway?"  At least that's what I keep thinking when Isabella's cleaning day rolls around.

Just kidding.  I don't actually expect her to go near the Pits of Despair.  Hell, I won't even go near the Pits of Despair and it's all my own shit.  What are these Pits, you wonder?  It's the perpetual pile of crap that continues to accumulate in between the bed and the wall.  I clear it at least two to three times a week, but mysteriously, the day after I've removed every item and vacuumed, it's back. 

I'm beginning to suspect I sleepwalk, and when I do, I make mess.  Well, the bright side?  At least I'm not stuffing my face when I sleepwalk.

Now I have to go clean up before Isabella gets here.

A More Realistic "To Do" List

I make lists of things I need to accomplish all of the time.  It's even the first item listed at the top of each new "to do" list I make.  See?

         1.    Make a to do list.

At least I get to cross off one item on my list every day.  As for all of those other items, let's just face the facts:  I only make to do lists in order to avoid beginning the tasks I put on the to do list in the first place.

Some people may decide to call this laziness, but procrastination is actually not that easy.  Effective procrastination is an art; it's not for everyone.  There are many people who might feel a lack of intellectual stimulation when attempting to avoid doing what they're supposed to do, but these people tend to lack imagination.

Now, creativity aside, what's really the point of making a to do list?  Is it organization?  Is it responsibility?  Or is it to feel a sense of fulfillment in that you've accomplished goals you've set for yourself?  I believe feeling accomplished is a fantastic way to keep motivated to tackle more difficult tasks. 

So, if I really wanted to feel a sense of accomplishment, my list would look a lot more like this:

1.  Drink coffee.
2.  Brush teeth.
3.  Watch some tv.
4.  Check my Facebook.
5.  Update my Facebook status with a witty quip.  If I can't think of one, use a famous quote, or don't even bother updating status at all.
6.  Eat something.  Ordering deliverable foods preferred. 
7.  Call some people and chat about nothing important, relevant, or significant.
8.  Have another cup of coffee.
9.  Watch some more tv.
10. Take a nap.
11.  Do something.
12.  Watch some dust settle.
13.  Have a cocktail.
14.  Enjoy a snack.
15.  Drop an F-bomb.
16.  Check email.
17.  Have another cocktail.
18.  Dance around the living room (possibly naked, with the shades open).
19.  Celebrate finally completing a to do list. 
20. Go to sleep.

The sense of completeness may be overwhelming.  I may feel like a superhero for finally achieving completion after years of struggling with overzealous goal setting in the form of a daily to do list.

Maybe now I will actually do something I should be doing.  You never know.  Stranger things have happened.  Maybe sometime I'll give it a shot.

Hey, Sauce Nazi, It's Time for a Little Chat...

My Come to Jesus Talk with the McDonald’s Sauce Nazi

If you must insist on charging me 15 cents for BBQ sauce, I must insist on asking you to place it in the bag.

I’m down with the whole economy-thing.  I know times are tough.  I’m not complaining because you insist on charging a whopping 15 pennies for your tangy, delicious BBQ sauce.  I’m fired up because the BBQ sauce never seems to make it into the bag. 

Now, after the first time I arrived home to find my BBQ sauce missing, I learned my lesson.  The next visit to your not-so-fast fast food drive-thru, I made sure to ask, “and the BBQ’s in the bag?” to which I was assured, it was, in fact, in the bag.

Upon further investigation, I discovered it was once again missing.  Time and time again, I’ve been charged the fee of 15 cents for invisible, tasteless BBQ.  As frustrated as I have been, calling to complain seemed an even bigger waste of my time.  But, then, at what point does this issue blossom into a full-fledged Come to Jesus-chat-worthy experience, you wonder?

Well, I’ll tell you.

First and foremost, you should know the following: I have been a faithful patron of the value meal for quite some time.  I’ve even visited your McD’s mecca.  That’s right.  I went to the McDonald’s Museum located in Des Plaines, more than once.  I even read every single wall plaque about the great Ray A. Kroc while there.   Ididn’t hesitate in returning to consume Quarter Pounders and Big Macs for any longer than one month after watching “Super Size Me”, I’ll have you know.  And, when those girls decided to sue you for making scrumptious, greasy burgers with less than zero nutritional value that they simply couldn’t resist overindulging in, I was on your side.

But today, today, my Sauce Nazi not-really-a-friend, today was the last straw.

I arrived between the lunch and dinner hours at your state-of-the-art, brand spankin’ new drive-thru excited to munch on some delicious BBQ-coated fries, ordered, and then was brutally rebuffed to hear you were “out of BBQ sauce.” 

What?  What?  How could this be?

Next, 30 seconds of my valuable time was vacuumed from my life due to having to decide between the other available sauce choices, which, by the way, aren’t that great.

Frustrated over this new development, I frantically contemplated how my French fry experience for the day was ruined.  Ruined!  And what else could possibly go wrong in light of this tragedy?  In doing so, I forgot to ask and/or check the bag for my sub-par, costly honey mustard.  Arrg!  Dumb, dumb mistake.

And guess what.  When I arrived home… (drum roll please) no sauce.  Are you kidding me?  Seriously?

Sauce Nazi, you may be in charge of charging for the sauce, but I have a GPS that says there’s another McDonald’s .07 miles from your location.  So, ha.  I’ll be traveling to that McDonald’s for at least the next week or two, partly because gas is expensive, but mostly because I’m just lazy. 

Either way, that gives you time to think about what you’ve done.  And maybe, just maybe, you’ll think long and hard about it and change your ways.  If not, my GPS says there’s also a McDonald’s 1.2 miles from your location I can test out.

Things I’ve Pondered This Week…

Sometimes my mind wanders.  I'll start on a perfectly sensible train of thought, and  before I even realize it--Bam! Crazy lady thoughts.  Here are three of my most recent random thgoughts from this past week...

How much would it cost to have Morgan Freeman follow me around and narrate my daily activities?  I’m sure that the laundry, dishes, and vacuuming would actually be exciting and suspenseful or sobering and meaningful if Morgan Freeman were to slowly describe each task in poetic detail.  His voice is like creamy butter sweetened with honey.  

But not that Country Crock with store brand honey though. Oh, no, no, no.  The real stuff, loaded with fat, that tastes like being at grandma's house for Sunday dinner.  It's only a memory, a whisper, of how good things could be if only Morgan Freeman were to narrate your life...  Ah...

Whatever he charges for daily activity narration, I probably can’t afford it.  Maybe I’ll just get out my copies of “Seven” and “The Shawshank Redemption” and see what kind of magic I can work with my audio equipment.  I’ll keep you posted on my progress. (Which is unlikely to get far, but I'll get to why in a little bit.)

Another thing I spent far too many hours contemplating this week: scarves.  Is that stupid scarf trend going to make its way back to the summer months this year?  I never got that.  It’s hot out, so let’s wear shorts, sandals, a tank top, and a scarf? 

Am I the only one who sees how little sense this makes?  If you don’t want to get all sweaty and stinky, why on earth would you wear a scarf around your neck in 80 degree weather?  Uh, duh!  I just really hope we’ve gotten over that trend for the time being.  Chalk it up to a bad idea. 

If it doesn’t come back, then I won’t drag up the topic of those horrid Ancient Rome-booty-sandal-or-are-they moccasins (?) thingies.  Seriously, no one looks good in those.  If I saw one of my friends wearing a pair of those atrocious monstrosities, I'd totally buy her a new pair of shoes, and then make her put them on immediately.  I don't want anyone else to see me with her in those stupid things.

Speaking of fashion, the 80's?  WTF, my friend?  Those clothes didn't even look good back in the 80's.  Wanna borrow my Aqua-Net?  I'll dig it out of the time capsule, which must be where you found those hideous jeans.  Can you say "stone washed"?  And does that mean I get to stone you for stealing my humorous Halloween attire?  Now I need a whole new costume trunk because dressing like an 80's ass hat will make me look like I'm not even wearing a costume.

Speaking of terrifying, let's address reality television's new, and lame, obsession...

Reality shows with wives have been plaguing my week.  I’m a wife.  I’m not that exciting.  Wives are not exciting.  Is this how they’re conning women into marriage these days?   I'm also a mother.  Being a wife and a mother is not glamorous, especially when I come to the realization I haven't showered in two days.  The I'll notice my stink, but instead of rushing to the nearest bar of soap, I think "Eh, so I smell.  No one really cares if I smell.  I'll shower on Thursday when my husband returns from his business trip."  And then I go look for any and all available chocolate.  Yum... Chocolate.

There are ridiculous amounts of reality shows with married women acting a fool.  I might act a fool on occasion, but you sure as shit ain’t gonna see me broadcast my crazy.  Just what I need, to be walking down the aisle at the grocery store to have some other wife stop and say, “aren’t you that crazy wife who checks her husband’s emails?” or “aren’t you the nutter from that wife show who throws $200,000 first birthday parties?” 

Yeah… not really exciting. 

Basically it reminds me of high school when my girlfriends would get into every aspect of their boyfriend’s life and question him about it.  Or, it reminds me of the fierce competition, again in high school, to throw the best party and get the coolest kids to show up.  Didn’t we graduate?  Why hasn’t life changed for these people?  It kinda creeps me out.

I've already thought of what's going to irk me next week, so I better wrap it up...